His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Eline’s bright voice in the hall, and he went downstairs. He entered the drawing room just as she was greeting his mother with an embrace. She had brought Ben, and had come on Betsy’s behalf to invite his mother to dinner that evening at Nassauplein. The other guests would be Madame Eekhof and her daughters Ange and Léonie, Frédérique and two of her brothers, and Vincent.
‘Of course we’re counting on you, too, Paul!’ she said, extending her hand to him. ‘That goes without saying. Dear lady, I do hope you won’t disappoint us; so please say yes! We won’t keep you beyond your usual hour, I promise. Ce n’est pas à refuser.’
Madame van Raat hesitated, saying she had reservations about her place in such youthful company.
‘But it’ll do you good! A little diversion will take you out of yourself! Think of Madame van Erlevoort,’ Eline persisted, ‘she finds it enjoyable enough! Why don’t you take her as an example?’
Madame van Raat was touched by the dear girl’s persuasive tone, and consented to come. Paul too accepted the invitation. Then she turned to Eline, who was seated beside her, and fixed her with a searching look, as though pondering some question in her mind. Meanwhile Paul, finding Ben annoyingly indolent as he sat quietly on a stool at his grandmother’s feet, did his best to engage the child in some play.
‘Now Eline dear, there is something I want to ask you,’ Madame van Raat began in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Tell me, is it true?’
Eline felt a faint blush rising to her cheeks, but she pretended not to understand the question.
‘I don’t quite know what you mean.’
Madame van Raat smiled. She did not pursue the subject further, merely asked: ‘Did you say Frédérique would be coming, too?’
‘Yes, I expect so, only. .’ said Eline.
‘Just her?’
‘No, no, she’ll be coming with her brothers, Otto and Etienne. .’
‘Oh, indeed,’ said the old lady with a casual air, but she gave Eline another long, knowing look, with something like a twinkle in her otherwise bleary gaze. Eline smiled, a trifle uneasily.
‘I do believe you are teasing me,’ she said, stroking her muff.
‘Oh, you know how people talk. One hears this and that and all manner of things, and yet, once in a while one hears something that’s true.’
‘And what have you heard?’
‘Something you would have told me yourself long ago if you had placed any confidence in me. Now I had to hear it from Betsy.’
Eline gave a start.
‘Did Betsy say. .?’ she faltered.
‘Yes, my dear, she did, and I would much rather have heard it from you first,’ said the old lady petulantly.
Eline was secretly rattled. It was true, Otto had asked her to marry him — but she had not yet made up her mind about accepting, and it was so annoying how everyone seemed to be in the know, eager to offer their opinion, how they had the audacity to address all sorts of comments to Betsy, even quite blunt ones. There had even been someone who, under the pretext of sincere friendship, had whispered in her sister’s ear that she should urge Eline to declare herself. All the indiscretions were getting on her nerves, and she was on the point of giving a sharp reply, but thought better of it. Showing no emotion, she murmured in the old lady’s ear:
‘Well, what was there to tell, really? Yes, Van Erlevoort did propose to me, but I wasn’t to say anything about it until I reached a decision.’
She glanced at Paul, then quickly looked away, for he had stopped playing with Ben and was watching her keenly, trying to follow what was being said. But she had no intention of satisfying either his or Madame’s curiosity, so she stood up, meaning to bring the conversation to an end at the earliest opportunity. When Madame van Raat said that Otto was a very personable young man in her opinion, Eline intervened by embracing her affectionately and said she ought to be going.
The old lady kissed her in return with tremulous insistence, and this irked her, as did the gleeful look in Paul’s eyes, and her annoyance was compounded by having to wait for Ben, who was taking ages to bid his grandmother goodbye.
. .
No, Eline could not make up her mind. She was fearful of taking a step that might make her happy or unhappy for life, as though her entire future now hinged on a single word, and she could not bring herself to utter it. Fearful too of a marriage of convenience, for she knew that her heart yearned for passionate love, despite her valiant efforts to suppress all such feelings after her disillusionment. As for Otto, well. . she had danced with him, she had laughed and jested with him, but not for a single moment did she find herself picturing him in her mind, indeed she seemed to forget what he looked like the moment he was out of her sight. On the other hand, he was manifestly kind and sincere, and at first the realisation that he was in love with her had certainly been gratifying, so much so that she told herself it would pain her to cause him grief, or to refuse him anything, including her hand in marriage. And while she thus wilfully blinded herself, the gentleness of his quiet adoration seemed to pour balm on her wounded heart.
In her recent state of self-delusion, the thought of becoming his wife had lulled her into a sense of calm contentment, and something akin to a rosy future had risen before her eyes. Moreover, she had considered the financial advantages.
Another cheering prospect was that of gaining her independence, being her own mistress. At last she would be able to leave her sister’s house, where, notwithstanding her private income, she always felt constrained and de trop, as if she were a demanding lodger whose presence was tolerated for appearance’s sake alone. But beneath all these deliberations warming her to Otto’s favours there lurked, like an unseen adder, the bitter regret at the shattering of her dreams, and if she ever gave herself to him it would be for the sake of revenge, revenge upon Fabrice, upon herself.
Yet now that Otto had actually proposed, now that she was obliged to come up with an answer in the absence of a grand, all-consuming passion, she had shied away from giving it.
Otto, for his part, bided his time; at least he was discreet.
For some days past he had avoided the Van Raat residence. Eline thought he deserved a reward for his tact, so she ventured to ask Betsy — she could not help blushing a little — to invite him to an informal gathering with Freddie and Etienne.
He would come, she would speak to him, and she had a sense of no longer possessing a will of her own, as though some unseen power were pushing her down a steep slope towards her inevitable fate; she felt as though blindfolded, groping for her happiness, her hands outstretched, her ears straining to catch the faintest echo of that joy, yet knowing it would elude her for ever.
. .
Betsy poured the tea. Sharing the sofa with her were her mother-in-law and Madame Eekhof, deep in conversation with Emilie de Woude; Henk stood with his hands in his pockets listening attentively to Vincent, while Eline, Paul and the Eekhof girls discussed the music books lying on the piano. Then Otto and Etienne arrived.
‘Where’s Frédérique?’ asked Betsy in some surprise, as she held out her hand to Otto.
‘Frédérique is feeling rather tired; she asked to be excused,’ he answered simply.
‘She’s often out of sorts these days,’ said Etienne with finality, as though to lend weight to his brother’s words.
Eline’s heart began to beat faster. She felt very nervous, although she succeeded in covering her emotion with a veneer of gaiety. She felt as if everyone in the room could guess what she was thinking, and hardly dared glance about for fear of seeing all eyes fixed upon her. But when she did venture to look up, nothing had changed: the old ladies were chatting with Betsy and Emilie, Vincent was talking in an undertone to Henk, and now Etienne was shaking hands with Paul and the girls.